Dawn of the infinite

DESCRIPTION

“Help Chromie fight back against the evil schemes of the infinite dragonflight as they attempt to give rise to their master Murozond.”

Song Content

Marketing Content

Shadows and Whispers

By Romien Garvette of the Whispering Shadows

Creeping, crawling, creeping, crawling.

They whisper, whisper, whisper to me. Do you hear it? It's low and steady. Crawls into your ears, rattles through your head. Shadows growing darker. The darkness is right under your eyelids. Black, eternal, inescapable. Creeping, crawling.

I am Her servant, loyal. I must be loyal. The shadows will catch me. I once thought myself quick, clever, able to pick any lock, there and back without a trace. I was ready, willing to give all to Her. I could not do otherwise, I knew. I felt. The darkness had seeped into my skin. I could taste it on my tongue, like the oil that coats this city.

Her shrikes sang to me, a haunting tune. I can't describe it. I don't want to, I can't, I won't. Always singing. The rhythm beat itself into my blood, my heart pumping in time. Slow, steady, slow, steady. Always singing, dreams coated in black. I'm drowning, I can't breathe, but Her song fills me still.

I'm creeping, crawling, a roach of Clockwork. Her insect, set to Her bidding. Shadows, I've become a shadow. I'm darkness, a stain upon the wall. My blade is coated in blood, red against the black. Warm, so warm, but my fingers feel like ice.

I'm trapped in brass, in cogs and wheels. The singing remains, but the song is gone. No tune, no music, but whispers set to rhythm. Serve Her, be shadow, be whispers. Creeping, crawling, but I can't escape. I'm caught in the darkness, tar which clings to my clothes. I speak but am silent. I see but am blind. Blind, so blind, to nothing but Her will.

The crows are laughing, but I cannot. The shrikes are singing, but I cannot. The world is bright, but I am darkness. I am whispers. You will not hear me before I strike.

A Grand Transformation

By Tree-Minder Hleelieek

We cannot fear change, cannot turn our heads from it. This we know, and always must know deep within our heart-roots. Sometimes, the change comes from outside forces; the passing of a season or the death of a loved one. Other times, this change comes from within ourselves. A need to shake away an old identity and embrace a new one.

There are many ways to change oneself, of course. Some travel to far off lands, taking in a new culture and lifestyle. Others choose to practice a new craft, woodworkers turned warriors, tailors turned egg-tenders. But others feel they need an even deeper change in their life, and so require the aid of the Hist. They are those who have chosen to change their gender.

Something deep within these individuals calls for them to undergo this change. I do not know if it is the Hist's will or simply their own. But always I listen with open mind and open palms, ready to help them in this time of transformation. Together we commune with the Hist and prepare to receive its aid.

The ceremony always leaves me breathless. Though the Hist watches over the tribe and guides us along our needed paths, rarely does it take direct action. But during this time, Hist and spirit combine, a loving embrace followed by a great change.

Afterwords, I reintroduce the newly transformed soul to the tribe. They are greeted by all, and a great celebration will follow; for someone beloved has left us, and someone beloved has arrived.

Research of Nathien Mortieu, Vol. 2

I'm simply atwitter with excitement at our latest developments. Our lovely plague has come together nicely, so nicely. Yes, I dare say at this point it's nigh incurable! We had some initial troubles with creating a delay in symptoms. Burn out the subject too quickly, and, well, there's no time for it to spread. No, we want to keep them up and about, spreading our blessing to as many as possible. How… reverent.

And when the symptoms do come, oh, well—it goes beyond description. I could wax poetic about the succulent pus, those all-spreading rashes. Boils, nearly translucent, they become so overfilled. The mere sight of that lovely, sickening shade of green sends pleasant shivers throughout my body. Have you ever seen something so beautiful? I've always had pride in my work, but this borders on adoration.

The giants have proved useful, just as the ogres, but still their reaction is just … wrong! They've turned my poor creation into something different, something unexpected. The heathens! Just like the ogres, it's turned them stronger, even more aggressive. They simply aren't human enough. Not right! The majority of them should be dead by now, but here they are, sturdier than ever. It makes me sick, and not in the good way!

We've lost a handful of researchers already, and I simply can't afford to lose more. The giant's matriarch has become particularly aggressive. And she just started to look so lovely, too. What a shame. I had hoped to sketch her in my spare time. Well, the path to discovery always tends to be tricky terrain. A few deaths are just unavoidable if we ever hope to reach our goal.

Speaking of our goal… oh, yes, yes, yes! She's begun to wake up. I feel it in my bones. Such a sleepy head, that one is. I hear her though. Oh, I hear her! She whispers to me of our glorious plans, how we will usher in a new age. I know we will. We must keep her safe, for the time being. And then she will become the shepherd.

I'm hoping to look my best when we finally meet. My nose has begun to rot, but the progress is slow. I'm half tempted to chop it off myself! But no. No, no, it would just look all wrong. I must be patient, in all things. My blessed beauty will come in time.